


Fireflies at Sea

by Rosedreamer



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers, Titanic (1997)
Genre: Alpha America (Hetalia), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Historical, Domestic Fluff, Edwardian Period, Falling In Love, M/M, Omega Verse, but also some naughty moments, like there are some super fluffy moments
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-03 22:51:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6630202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosedreamer/pseuds/Rosedreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>19-year old Alfred F. Jones is an Alpha boarding the Titanic to start a new life back home in the States. During the fateful journey on the ship of dreams, he falls in love.</p><p>21-year old Arthur F. Kirkland is an Omega boarding the Titanic to save his family's reputation by marrying a man he hates. During the fateful journey on the ship of dreams, he falls in love. </p><p>A whole bunch of other characters board the Titanic and fall in love too. </p><p>A Hetalia Omegaverse love story (multiple love stories) set in Titanic AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sehnsucht

**Author's Note:**

> *Hides face in pillow* Maybe because it's like 1:30 AM I'm feeling brave, but this is the FIRST time I am actually posting anything I've written. So yeah. This fic was inspired by the film Titanic, but also by my love of the Edwardian period and history in general. 
> 
> The title of the chapter in German, meaning "longing" or "craving". Basically it refers to “life’s longings” or the "inconsolable longing in the human heart for we know not what." As well as an individual’s search for happiness and all that gooey poetic goodness. Sorry! I can be very gross sometimes.

_April 10, 1912, 11:15 am_  
**Two shiny cars moved slowly through the dense crowd lining the pier and towards the Titanic.** The driver of the first car scurried around to pull open one of the doors, revealing Arthur Dewitt-Kirkland, dressed in a finely cut black two-piece suit and black leather shoes polished to a fault. On the other side, a tall man in a grey suit and bowler hat that covered his black locks, emerged, reeking of Alpha arrogance and money. 

"I don't see what all the fuss is about," Arthur said, his voice devoid of any emotion, "Yes, it may be larger than the Mauretania, but that's hardly a reason to change out reservations at the last minute, Jason."

His companion, Jason Hartley, rolled his eyes dramatically, "You can be blasé about some things, Arthur, but not about Titanic! She is far more luxurious than the Mauretania. There’s a squash court, a swimming pool, a Parisian café and even Turkish baths.”

Arthur moved towards the other car, drowning out the man’s voice. The only reason we switched ships is because you wanted everyone to see you parading your new Omega around like a prized trophy he thought bitterly to himself with a sigh. A valet moved to open the door of the automobile revealing his two cousins. Lili Zwingli gave Arthur a bright smile as she slid a rose-colored glove into his grasp, hopping down with effortless grace. She was beautiful, in an angelic type of way, and resembled his mother and her sister exactly. Her eyes stood out like two pure green globes against the white oval of her face. Lili’s short blonde hair, which she had styled after her brother’s, was parted in the middle and her petite body was clad in a simple light blue, seersucker dress. She looked almost like a pixie from one Arthur’s old fairytale books.  
Vash Zwingli followed suit, straightening his coat and holding his sister’s bonnet. Though he was short for an Alpha, shorter than Arthur, he carried himself with an air of dignity. However, unlike the other Alpha in their party, Vash had worked for his banking fortune and lacked any hubris or arrogance that was inherently instilled into many blue-blooded Alphas. 

Arthur turned his attention to picking up his suitcase containing his books. 

"Sweetpea, let me carry that for you."

Arthur frowned at the nickname tucking his bag under his arm more firmly. He realized his behavior was akin to that of a petulant child’s, but he would never let Jason near any of his most prized possessions. Especially when Jason had such a low regard for knowledge outside of his own narrow sphere of understanding. 

"I love it when you make that face," Jason winked at him, motioning for a small army of porters to pick up the rest of their luggage. Arthur walked on ahead, furious that his efforts at driving the Alpha away had backfired.  
Pausing halfway up the gangplank to take a breath, Arthur let his eyes drop on the bustling crowd below. His gaze settled on the third class passengers who were shuffling towards the ship after getting inspected for lice.

One man in particular stood out, trusses of sandy blonde hair catching the breeze as he stood staring up at the ship. Even from a distance, there was something effortless about the way he moved. He seemed so…free. As if sensing the weight of Arthur’s stare, the man lifted his chin, eyes snapping to Arthur’s own. Arthur looked away quickly, cheeks ablaze with embarrassment for being caught staring. The other man’s eyes had sparkled like the surface of the ocean, breathtaking and hiding an infinite depth of secrets.

“Arthur, are you coming?” Lili and the others had caught up and were already at the doorway leading inside the ship.  
He moved to join them, turning his back on England possibly forever.

 

 **Further down the pier,** an Omega with short blonde hair craned his neck back to look up at the towering giant of a ship in front of him. The RMS Titanic. They called the behemoth the ship of dreams, and perhaps it was, but for Tino, each step towards the looming vessel reminded him of a funeral march.

 _No! Stop thinking about that,_ he scolded himself silently, attempting to push back memories of black suits, rain soaked lilies and dirt being tossed over a grave. He didn’t want any memory of the pale, lifeless form inside the box. He wanted to remember 

Lord Patrick Kirkland the way he had been on the day of the summer festival, when they’d gone down to the creek behind the Kirkland country estate five years ago. 

_The young heir had declared that they shouldn’t ruin their clothes by swimming in them. After disrobing himself, Patrick had turned to his valet expectantly. Tino had swallowed hard as he tried to pull his own clothes over his head. Patrick sighed, both amused and exasperated, moving to help him. When the last article of clothing was peeled from his naked skin, Patrick had taken Tino’s hand in his, leaning their foreheads together. Now we are the same, he whispered. Later, when they were done swimming, they had crawled onto the grassy bank, shivering and breathless from the cold. Under the afternoon sun, the secret kisses of their youth melted into touches and caresses of a maturing love. At first Tino insisted they shouldn’t push the invisible boundary, but eventually he couldn’t resist the Alpha. His eyes were cerulean, and they had gazed into his own violet ones, slightly confident, a little nervous and full of wonder. What Patrick had done hurt at first, but when it was over, Tino found himself wanting to go on feeling that new sweet, searing pain all over again. But two months later, he found himself pregnant and the first love of his life was six feet underground._

Tino was pulled from his thoughts by a small hand tugging impatiently on the hem of his coat. Peering down, his aching heart warmed slightly as he was greeted by the toothy grin of his five-year-old son. 

“Mama! Is that the ship we’re going on?”

Tino felt a smile tugging at his lips. 

“Yes Peter,” he said, taking the young boy’s hand in his own.

Peter turned his head back up to the ship, a look of awe and wonderment on his face. His lake-blue eyes shimmered with barely contained excitement. The same blue eyes as his father—

“It’s not too late, y’know,” a rich, baritone voice spoke softly into his ear. “You can still change your mind.”

Tino turned slightly to look up at his husband Berwald. The tall Swedish Alpha was intimidating to most, with his piercing eyes that resembled a tiger’s more than a human’s. But Tino knew that behind his fierce gaze was the kindest, gentlest soul he had ever known. If it wasn’t for Berwald, he might have died on the streets, a lone, disgraced Omega pregnant with a bastard child.  
Berwald grunted, taking Tino’s free hand and brushing his lips against the knuckles. Tino melted under the affectionate touch. He leaned into Berwald’s dark coat, inhaling the scent of coffee and snow. 

“I wish you could be in second class with us,” he mumbled nuzzling further into his Alpha. 

“Too risky,” Berwald mumbled. “Don’t want them to know I’m on board with you.”

Tino bit his lip to keep a groan from escaping. He knew Berwald was right. Patrick’s family would be travelling on aboard as well, albeit in first class. In exchange for Tino’s silence about the affair with the late heir to the Kirkland family, Patrick’s father had paid for a nice sized house and a good school for his illegitimate grandchild. The only catch was that Tino and his son would have to uproot and move to America. Since the Kirklands did not know about Tino’s marriage to Berwald, the two had agreed that, until they arrived at their new home and were far away from the Kirkland patriarch, it would be best to keep the relationship a secret. Tino and Peter would be travelling second class, curtesy of the Kirklands, while Berwald had bought himself a third class ticket. 

“I’ll be fine Berwald,” Tino’s voice was soft and warm, but still firm enough to let the man know that he had made up his mind. 

“It’s only a few days.” 

Berwald searched Tino’s eyes briefly for any sign of uncertainty. Finding nothing but steely resolve, he loosed his hold on the Omega’s hand and offered him a small smile. He turned his attention to the young boy who was still staring transfixed at the ship in front of them. 

“Peter” he grumbled, bending to his knees to look the boy in the eye. “Take care of your mother and don’t worry him too much.” The Swede glanced towards Tino’s stomach, which protruded considerably under his thick coat. Peter beamed. 

“Ok Papa!” he wrapped his tiny arms around the massive man, burying his face into the side of Berwald’s neck. “I’ll take good care of Mama and my baby brother or sister too!”

Berwald enveloped Peter into a tight hug before untangling himself and rising to his feet. He turned to kiss Tino gently on the forehead and caress his cheek. Then, picking up his suitcase he turned towards the third class boarding area disappearing into the crowd. 

Tino took a deep breath, taking his young son’s hand and moving towards the second class gangway in the opposite direction.

 _I’ll be fine_ he told himself. _We’ll be fine._

 **The crisp, clean halls of steerage were filled with far too many people** and was not nearly wide enough to fit more than two or three at a time. This wasn’t a problem for the young Alpha though. Since he could remember, Alfred F. Jones had always been able get through the gaps and cracks of life. Now he twisted and maneuvered himself through the belly of the colossal passenger liner until he burst through the doors to the deck.

He inhaled deeply, tasting the sea salt in the air. Far below him, waves licked the side of the hull, occasionally splashing up. All around, people leaned over the railing, throwing goodbyes and flowers to the people lining the dock. Children were perched on their parents’ shoulders or wrapped around their legs smiling and squealing in delight. Young and old couples alike shared kisses and words of happiness to one another. Friends embraced and clapped one another on the back. In third class, social hierarchies were almost nonexistent –Alpha, Omega or Beta, they were all united. Alfred grabbed the rails, pulling himself up as high. 

“I'm going home!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, because it didn't matter. He turned around, a grin stretched across his face. He jumped from his perch and all but tackled the Beta who made this all possible. “I'm going home!”  
Toris Laurinaitis laughed brightly at his enthusiastic friend. Then again, Alfred was always overenthusiastic. Whether he was sitting on a park bench sketching a passing bird or singing at full volume in a cabaret, Alfred was simply a lover of living. 

Next to him, his partner Feliks, flipped back a loose stand of blonde hair. “I can’t wait to see the Statue of Liberty,” he beamed, Polish accent thick on his lips. Toris smiled, twining his fingers through his boyfriend's and giving a gentle squeeze. 

“We're going home,” Alfred said, wrapping his arms around his two best friends.  
He loved his life and he loved the Titanic. 

 

 **Arthur hated the Titanic.** But more than the ship itself, he hated his life. Jason waltzed around the private promenade deck of the "Millionaire Suite", that included two bedrooms, a bath, two wardrobe rooms and an aesthetically pleasing sitting room. Lili and Vash were situated across the hall, but had stopped by to discuss plans for the rest of the day.  
Arthur drowned their voices out as he set up his books in his lavishly appointed room. His manservant, Kiku Honda, helped him unpack. The Japanese Omega was one of the few people Arthur felt a connection with and the two had grown close in the 10 years Kiku had served as his companion. 

“—tomorrow we should invite Peter and Tino to tea.” 

The names caught Arthur’s interest and he looked up from his unpacking. Vash raised a blonde eyebrow, but remained silent, giving Jason an opportunity to sneer at the suggestion. 

“I don’t see why your family continues to acknowledge that whore and his bastard son,” he commented. “If you ask me, you would have been much better just leaving them to rot on the streets of London where they belong.” 

Arthur felt himself stiffen at the harsh words. He had known Tino since his boyhood days and the two Omegas had become quick friends, despite their class differences. He knew that Patrick had always had a soft spot for their sweet servant and when news of the liaison surfaced, Arthur wasn’t even surprised. He had respected both Tino and his late brother for following their hearts, even though their romance ended tragically when Patrick was killed in the car accident. 

“Like it or not, Tino and Peter are family,” he found all eyes in the room were now trained on him, but he kept his voice steady. “Kirklands never turn their backs on family. I’m sure you can suffer through one cup of tea, darling.” There was an underlying contempt in the way he uttered the word ‘darling’, but Jason decided to ignore it. However, both Lili and Vash shared a secret smile. 

“Well then,” the young girl said, clapping her hands. “I will go make the arrangements!” She rose from her seat and turned to exit the room, followed by her brother, who nodded at Arthur before closing the door softly. 

Behind him, Arthur heard Jason and his valet. 

"He’s pretty feisty for an Omega, isn’t he sir?"

"Oh, you have no idea. But his temper tantrums make him all the more adorable!"

Arthur bristled at their comments, all but stomping into his bedroom. He heard footsteps behind him and knew that Jason was following. 

Kiku, in an attempt to lighten his obvious foul mood, began quietly talking. The two ignored the man standing in the doorframe who was now openly leering at the Kirkland Omega. 

"Everything is so new,” Kiku said. “You can practically still smell the fresh paint. Imagine, Arthur-san, tonight when I crawl between the sheets, I'll be the first-"

"And when I crawl between the sheets tonight, I'll still be the first," Jason interrupted, his gaze turning hungry as he met Arthur’s eyes, who turned away, repulsed by the sexual innuendo. 

Kiku blushed scarlet and made some comment about going to find make tea. He excused himself, giving Arthur an apologetic look before hurrying from the room. Jason moved behind Arthur wrapping his arms around his waist. Arthur breathed through his mouth so he wouldn’t have to smell the sickening cologne that enveloped his fiancé. Jason leaned forward to nip at his scent gland in an act of possessiveness. Even though marking mates was considered outdated, and even barbaric by Omega activists, many upper-class Alphas still practiced the custom. 

"I’ll be the first and only one to have you,” he breathed into Arthur’s ear, “Forever." He turned the shorter man around and pressed their mouths together. 

As soon as their lips touched, Arthur went slack. There was no spark or stomach fluttering with butterflies. No magic or heart stopping touch that he had dreamt about in his youth when his first heats had wracked his body. Arthur felt nothing and he remained impassive through the ordeal. 

Jason might as well have been kissing a corpse.


	2. A Stroke of Lightning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has a secret....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated 5/14/16: Went back and made some edits, but the story is basically the same as it was so keep calm and carry on. 
> 
> Title comes from the French word _coupe de foudre_ that refers to love at first sight.

_April 10, 1912, 7:26 pm_  
**Ivan Braginski had not yet taken off his beige wool coat and scarf** even though he had been brooding on the striped settee in his suite for several hours. He could hear Sophia, his elder sister, talking cheerfully with their Beta stewardess in her room, no doubt picking out a gown for the evening’s festivities. He did not share his sister's enthusiasm. In his opinion, the Titanic was too loud. Not in volume, but in design and taste. The maroon and gold carpets, the damask wallpaper, the polished floors, the voluptuously curved edges of every piece of furniture–it was too loud and gaudy. While Ivan was used to finery, having lived most of his life in the gilded capital of Imperial Russia, the Titanic was anything but authentic. It catered to those who had more money than class. To Ivan, first class was nothing more than a circus of Alphas parading along the promenade as if they owned the world, docile Omegas conforming to the corseted restraints of society and Betas attempting to balance between the two.

"I don't want to go to America."

His younger sister, Natalia stood glaring out the window. Her tone was dry and her sharp, chiseled features were framed in a white fur that Ivan is fairly certain once belonged to a polar bear. Her platinum blonde hair was tied up with a large white bow and single diamond brooch, was nestled between her pale collarbones.

Ivan exhaled through his nose. He was familiar with this argument. Ever since he had hustled his sisters onto a train in an attempt to escape the revolution starting to erupt across his country, his teenage sister had been difficult…at least more difficult than usual. 

“I know you are upset about leaving,” he started, fixing the younger Alpha with what he hoped was a firm gaze. “But it was dangerous for us to remain in Russia.” 

Natalia’s frown deepened, and her severe blue-grey eyes narrowed. 

“We could have stayed with Uncle Nicki,” she continued. “We would have been safe with them.”  
Ivan didn’t have the heart to tell her that it been “Uncle Nicki” the current Emperor of All the Russias, who had suggested taking his sisters abroad.

_There’s a storm coming my dear Ivan, Nicholas II had said to him one evening. If I could avoid it I would, but I fear it will soon be upon us. Ivan hadn’t wasted any time. Being a distant relative of the Imperial family, he used his influence to secure traveling papers and fake identities for himself and his family. Now they were simply wealthy Russians taking a tour of the United States. He had arranged for them to settle down in New York and, hopefully, wait out the revolution until it was safe enough to return to their motherland. He remembered the night he and his sisters were departing and the Imperial family had come to see them off. Sophia had embraced the Empress, crying softly and promising to write letters constantly. Natalia, usually aloof in terms of affection, looked on the verge of tears as she clasped the hands of Olga and Tatiana Romanov. Ivan shook the Emperor’s hand and saluted Alexei who enthusiastically returned the gesture. He felt a tugging on his jacket and turned to see the youngest princess, Anastasia. Though her eyes were sad and blotchy from crying, she wore a brave smile and held out a golden locket to the tall man._

_Don’t forget about us, she said in a soft voice. Ivan felt his throat tightening, but he managed a nod and leaned down to kiss her wet cheeks._

_As the train pulled away and the Imperial family waved goodbye, Ivan couldn’t help the sinking feeling that it was the last time he would ever see them._

Ivan suddenly rose from his seat.

“I’m going up on deck,” he announced to no one in particular, turning on his heel. Sophia peeked her head out of the room, a look of worry edged between her brows. 

He shut the door behind him letting the quietness of the hallway envelope him. He didn’t want to be surrounded by all the loud Americans and snobbish Europeans he would be stuck with for almost a week. But he didn’t want to stay locked up in his room to dwell on the life he left behind. Perhaps he could—

“Mei, don’t run in the hallway!” 

Ivan barely had time to get out of the way as a girl came barreling down the corridor. She had brown hair that fell well past her waist and large brown eyes that fizzled with barley contained excitement. She wore a pink rose-colored dress that she had hiked up well past her ankles in order to run faster. 

“We’re going to miss Cherbourg, Yao,” the girl, Mei, called over her shoulder, narrowly missing a steward walking by with fresh towels before she disappeared around the corner. 

“I am so sorry about that sir.”

Ivan turned to look towards the voice and felt his heart stutter.

Standing in front of him was the most beautiful man he ever seen. He was considerably shorter than Ivan (but, then again, most people were) and had long dark hair tied into a neat ponytail. His soft, crème complexion was considerably darker than Ivan’s but the Russian could still see the flush of exertion bleeding into his cheeks. He wore a red silk robe with long sleeves covering his hands, making him appear even more deliciously delicate. His vivid eyes, which were trained on Ivan, resembled rich earth with flecks of gold dancing in their depths. 

“Ivan,” he found himself saying. 

The Omega tilted his head, startled.

Ivan allowed the first genuine smile of the day to touch his lips. 

“My name is Ivan Braginski,” he elaborated, offering his hand. 

“Yao Wang,” the other man said allowing his fingers to brush against Ivan’s outstretched palm. Though the touch was light, it sent an electric shock between them and Ivan was certain Yao could feel. “Again, I apologize for my sister’s behavior…” Yao said after a moment, his cheeks reddening even more as he averted his eyes from Ivan’s suddenly attentive gaze. “It was nice to make your acquaintance, Mr. Braginski.” 

Before Ivan could say anything more, Yao had hurried down the hallway, leaving nothing but the scent of chrysanthemums in his wake. Though he was gone, Ivan had the feeling that he would be seeing Yao Wang again, very soon. 

 

 **The surface of the water reflected the orange and pink glow of the sunset above.** To the teenager, standing out on deck, watching his beloved France grow smaller and smaller, it was a sky that reminded him of strawberry ice cream and sweltering midsummer nights catching fireflies. There were few people still up on deck –a handful of stewards moved about, collecting discarded blankets and cups left behind by the elite passengers who were, no doubt, dolling themselves up for dinner. At this time of day, he was less likely to be recognized, and if he was, he was sure it would be by someone with enough manners to leave him to his thoughts.

It was incredible, he reflected, how much everything had changed in his 18 years of life. 

_Matthew Williams had been born into a family of dreamers –a tightly knit assortment of grandparents, cousins, aunts, uncles, brothers and sisters who all lived in California. His father had owned a small plot of land spotted with cattle, horses and the occasional chicken. His mother had been a schoolteacher. He had inherited his father American blonde hair, but his mother’s tranquil disposition. Matthew was the youngest of four children and the quietest, preferring to listen to his grandmother’s stories of her tribesmen who had settled in the brown hills of the American West. When Matthew's parents and brother moved across the country to New York City, and invited the 8 year old Matthew to join them, he had no idea that less than a year later, he would be an orphan._

_Matthew had been playing down the street when he heard the fire engines and saw the smoke. The official report stated that ta fire had broken out on the third story of the eleven story building. The dilapidated building became a blazing deathtrap and his family, along with 89 other occupants, had succumbed to the deadly conflagration. Matthew had been taken to an overcrowded orphanage where he basically was left to fend for himself. That was where Walter Williams found him._

_The man asked him what his name was in a thick French accent. Matthew, he whispered with the little bit of strength he had. The old Alpha’s brown eyes were filled with so much warmth and kindness that, for a moment, Matthew thought he had died and was looking into the face of his father. The blue eyed man spoke in a low, soft voice. Would you like to come live with me, Matthew? He must have nodded his head or said something in affirmation, because the next thing he knew, he was being picked up and placed gently into the warm leather seat of a carriage with a blanket over his body. He heard voices outside the carriage, the matron in charge of the orphanage speaking with his father. He drifted into unconsciousness. When he came to, he was laying in the largest bed he had ever seen in his life and his worn out clothes had been replaced with soft pajamas. The man with blue eyes was sitting next to his bed, a book open in his lap. Realizing that he was, in fact, alive and that the man wasn’t his father but a stranger who had taken him away, Matthew scrambled to get out of bed. The man reached forward to help, but quickly retracted his hand when he saw how Matthew flinched. I suppose I should explain myself, he said softly as to not startle the boy. My name is Walter Williams; I am a businessman from Canada, and I would like to adopt you as my son. Though Matthew was confused and nervous, he asked why he wanted him to be his son -he was nothing but a penniless, invisible orphan in the eyes of society. At this, the man smiled. You're not invisible to me._

_It turned out that Walter had lost his mate and his son to tuberculosis three years earlier. When he saw Matthew lying there, alone and hanging on to life by a thread, some paternal instinct inside him stirred and he realized he had to rescue the boy. He had marched into the orphanage and had basically bought Matthew from the startled superintendent before scooping the Omega up in his arms, placing him inside his carriage and taking him back to his hotel suite._

_Despite his initial timidity, Matthew soon discovered that the man who had saved him did not have any ulterior or perverse motives as he had initially feared. He was kind and gentle and treated Matthew like a favorite grandchild. He was tutored by private instructors on etiquette, history, modern languages, literature and the sciences. Mr. Williams used his powerful influence to shield the young boy from prying eyes and only a few trusted servants knew of Matthew’s true origins. Williams provided Matthew with a nurturing home and every comfort he could ever need, while Matthew gave Walter a sense of purpose and much needed company. Yet, behind the afternoon teas and Sunday carriage rides, Matthew felt a hole in his soul, as if something was missing..._

“Mon Cheri.” The voice cut through the listless atmosphere ending the peaceful silence. 

Matthew Williams inhaled a breath of sweet, air as he surfaced from his thoughts. He tilted his head back to glance at Francis Bonnefoy. 

“I thought you were going to the smoking room before dinner,” Matthew said, gesturing to the black dinner jacket draped over the Alpha's left arm.

“I couldn't resist seeing my _bouton d'or_ ” Francis Bonnefoy all but purred offering his free arm. "You look absolutely ravishing," he continued as they stepped into the oak paneled interior of the ship. All the faces turned slightly to get a better look at the French couple as they passed by. Everything about Francis, from his blue-green eyes, stubbly jaw and gold, shoulder length hair to the ease of his movements oozed wealth and seductive confidence that, even after several months of marriage, Matthew still found intoxicating. While the open stares always made Matthew uncomfortable, the whispers were what really made him shrink in on himself.

While Matthew came from a well-off, respectable family, he was neither European nor of noble blood. The lack of those two essential pedigree stamps made Matthew an immediate outcast in French society. Also, his shy modesty, which in Canada was considered refreshingly charming, was ridiculed in the society papers. French Omegas were expected to be desirable and seductive, even after marriage. Their world centered around the art of conversation and fashion and Matthew Bonnefoy had no place their golden bubble.

“Do not worry about what they think,” his mate said, as if he had read his mind. “You are the only that matters to me. You and our future child, Mathieu.”

Matthew felt his heart flutter at the way Francis said his name—not in the plummy way that gossip-rich society people did or in the folksy drawl many of his family members used to. On Francis’ tongue, it sounded like an entirely different word. It made him feel protected, as though he was wrapped in some rich, clean-smelling blanket with a cup of hot chocolate on a stormy night.

In that moment, Matthew wished more than anything that he could open his entire heart to Francis. The parts of his past that he had tried to bury deep in his soul. But he knew he could never tell him. He could never share the stories his Native American grandmother used to tell him in the dusty hills of California. He could never speak of his siblings or his parents. He could never show him the real Matthew.

All he could do was place a hand on his swollen, round stomach and smile as his mate led him towards the dining room.

 

 **A sparse crowd had begun to gather in the first class lounge** as men and women alike, peered curiously at the passengers who had boarded at Cherbourg. Socialites draped in feather boas, heiresses wearing low-cut gowns, debutantes and gold diggers covered in heirloom jewels, Oxford sophomores and gamblers in three piece suits, and the occasional incorruptible innocents strutted around the room in a glitzy haze of self-importance. 

The Alpha standing against the oak paneled wall near the front of the room, turned his deep, pure blue eyes away from the forming crowd and scanned the opposite side of the lounge. Ludwig Beilschmidt had the shoulders of a general and the cheekbones of a born aristocrat. His sunlit blonde was combed back neatly and his mouth was most often fixed in a line of military discipline. Like Arthur Kirkland, Ludwig and his brother were the descendants of one of Europe’s great noble families but, unlike the Englishman and Ludwig, Gilbert Beilschmidt was much, much less concerned with being proper. 

The older Alpha was presently surrounded by a group of male and female Omegas, who, with their bejeweled starched skirts and flattering waistcoats were busy gushing at the silver haired Prussian. Next to him stood Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. Antonio’s family was a political one with connections to royal households all around the world. Although he was expected to pursue a career in law like his father, Antonio had rejected the future originally envisioned for him, and became engrossed in the world of painting, much to his parents’ disapproval. He was now a renowned painter who had studied under influential artists such as Monet, Pichot and Picasso. The Spaniard smiled radiantly as he bowed and went about kissing each of their gloved hands.

The blonde haired man sipped his brandy, letting the bitterly sweet liquid trickle down his throat and burn his tongue when suddenly someone stumbled into him, spilling their glass of champagne all over his dinner jacket. Ludwig let out a vexed grunt as he turned to face the offender, only to find himself assaulted with a stream of apologies.

“I-am-so-sorry-sir-I-wasn’t-looking-where-I-was-going-and-I-bumped-into-you-and-my-brother-is-always-telling-me-that-I-am-clumsy-and-I-should-pay-attention-when-I’m-walking-but-I-was-looking-around-at-all-the-beautiful-things-and-I-spilled-my-drink-all-over-your-nice-suit-and-you-must-be-so-angry-you’re-not-going-to-hit-me-are-you?”

Ludwig gaped at the terrified face of an Omega with striking amber-colored hair and eyes, who was visibly shaking in front of him, clutching his now empty wine glass. 

“I-It’s fine” Ludwig stuttered, holding up his palms to placate the young man, who noticeably relaxed. He was dressed rather modestly in a high-waisted dress of white chiffon and satin tied with a a white sash. There was something familiar about him.

“Excuse my rudeness, but have we met before?” Ludwig didn’t expect his voice to sound so rough. He cleared his throat, attempting to keep down the blush creeping up his neck down.

The Omega looked at him, tilting his head adorably to one side. There was a fresh quality about his brown eyes as they stared curiously into Ludwig’s own, as though he was eager to miss nothing. A flash of recognition crossed his face. 

"Oh yes! Your papa owned the farm in Germany with all the ponies!”

Ludwig remembered. An old Italian gentleman had visited his family’s Bavarian estate where his father bred racehorses several years back. Two boys around Ludwig's age had accompanied him and while the adult Alphas sat on the verandah drinking iced water with mint leaves and honey, Ludwig took the younger boy riding on his grey pony. Behind the cherry trees in the orchard, the little Italian had leaned up and pressed his mouth against Ludwig's before running off to join his brother. The memory had been buried at the back of Ludwig's mind, but it now resurfaced with startlingly clarity.

“You're a lot taller than you were back then,” Feliciano said. "And even more handsome!" Feliciano moved in closer, placing a hand on the his arm. To anyone else in the room, the gesture would appear friendly, but the sudden smell of jasmines filled Ludwig's nose, hitting him like a stroke of lightning. He started panicking. _Was he doing this on purpose? Why does he smell so good? Am I going mad?_ Feliciano was now gazing up at him with dewy adoration and his cheeks were flushed a gorgeous shade of red. A sweet smile formed on his lips. Lips that were soft and tasted of mint and honey. Lips that looked far too kissable. Lips that were far too beautiful. Lips that would look even more beautiful around his-

"Feliciano!"

Both men turned to see another Omega making his way into the lounge. His olive complexion was striking against his black and silver coat that seemed to shimmer as he moved. His russet locks were swept back underneath a large black ostrich fathered hat. Ludwig knew at once that he was Feliciano's older brother, Lovino. The one thing he remembered about the older Italian was that, for some reason, he had hated Germans -or at least Ludwig.

Ludwig immediately took a step away from him, pulling his arm free. 

A look of hurt glistened in Feliciano’s face. His eyes dropped to the floor and Ludwig felt a crushing sense of guilt. Before he could open his mouth to apologize for his abrupt move, the Feliciano was already speaking.

“I’m sorry Ludwig,” he mumbled. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I guess I just-" He abruptly stopped and without another word, he quickly turned, hurrying towards the door that lead out of the lounge. Lovino moved to follow his brother, but stopped to glare over his shoulder. 

“Stay away from my little brother,” he hissed, leaving Ludwig standing alone in the lounge with nothing but a stained suit, a heavy heart and an almost empty glass of brandy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter Summery:**  
>  Russia wants to conquer China's _territories_  
>  Canada's got 99 problems  
> Italy is thirsty for Germany ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)  
> Everyone is basically pregnant or wants to have someone's babies *throws heart petals* 
> 
> *I really want Romano to be a fashionista because I just wanna see him rock one of those huge feathery, Edwardian hats!
> 
> P.S. The name France calls Canada translates to buttercup. Cause we all know Canada is a beautiful flower inside and out~


	3. Scent of Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hong Kong and Iceland finally meet!!!!
> 
> The title was inspired by the Greek word _Petrichor_ which means the scent of rain on dry earth.

**Emil Thomasson knew he wasn’t supposed to be in that part of the ship.** As a third class passenger, he was restricted to third class areas only. His older brother, Lukas, worked in the first class dining room and had brought him chocolate coated eclairs from the kitchen before the dinner rush started. When he had asked if he could go up and see the dining room for himself, Lukas had simply stared at him. Like the cold, Norwegian winters of their homeland, Lukas’ expressions were often hard to interpret. A twitch of his lips or a quick side glance were often the only way of reading his emotions. In that moment, his face had given nothing away. But his tone had been final. _Absolutely not. __With that, he left their closet of a room and went upstairs to go to work._

Emil, had spent the evening wandering every corner of the third class areas, but now he was bored. An idea struck him. Hurrying back to their cabin, he took one of his brother's spare uniforms and, while no one was looking, he slipped through the gate on the poop deck that separated the third class from the first class promenade. 

_Act like you know what you’re doing,_ Emil told himself as he straightened his spine. The first class area boasted a covered promenade, with large square windows that gave a panoramic view of the ocean. Men and women dressed in clothes that probably costed small fortunes reclined on sofas and in armchairs, reading, smoking or talking animatedly with one another. He continued onward. 

Inside the ship, Emil came upon a a pair of marble steps that curved elegantly together at the landing before separating into two separate stairways to the deck above. The wood was rich oak and accented with intricate ironwork designs. Emil had never thought that a staircase could be so beautiful.

Perfume, pheromones and innuendo filled the air. Walking through one of the glass doors, Emil entered a well-lit lounge where music was playing. Handsomely dressed men and women pressed against one another, conversing in small groups behind feathered fans and flutes of wine. As Emil passed through, he heard tidbits of conversations. 

“—his gown? Such exquisite detailing.”

“—heard that she’s married already!”

“—wish that the captain had stopped at our table.” 

“—a purebred Omega from a good family.” 

He quickened his pace. He was greeted with a hallway, lined with staterooms on either side. The paneled walls were eggshell white and beneath his feet, the white linoleum seemed to glow from the gas lamps overhead. He heard voices coming down the corridor and felt his heart sink upon seeing his brother’s mate, Mathias Kohler, walking down the hall with a group of stewards. He hadn’t been spotted yet, but Emil realized that there was nowhere for him to hide. In an impulsive move, he reached out for the first door handle and finding it unlocked ducked inside, pressing his back against the door. 

“I believe in most cultures, it’s considered polite to knock first,” a young woman’s voice said off to his left. Emil let out an unbecoming squawk.

The woman –or more accurately girl— was seated at a table, with another young girl. The two regarded him with open curiosity. The first girl, the one who had spoken, wore a pink robe embroidered with white and gold flowers Emil did not recognize. Her shaped eyes were wide but not hostile or startled. The second girl wore a green dress that reached the floor and complimented her huge green eyes. Her short blonde hair barely reached her chin and her mouth was curled into a friendly smile. 

“Thank goodness you barged into Mei’s room,” she said pleasantly. “I’m sure my brother would have shot you on sight if you had barreled into our room.” 

“M-My deepest apologies,” Emil sputtered, bowing swiftly. “I thought you were at dinner so I was coming to tidy the room up.” The first girl, presumably Mei, rose from her seat, a grin etched onto her face. “This is exciting isn’t it Lili?” she gushed crossing over to the steward. “A pretty boy enters our room in the dark of night. It’s just like a story in one of my novels!” 

A warm blush rose to Emil’s cheeks that did not go unnoticed by the girls. They shared laugh, covering their amusement with their hands. 

“Well Mr. Steward,” Mei said, recovering some of her earlier grace, “I do not require any services tonight. But my brother next door might need some attending to.” She pointed at a door on the far end of the room.  
Emil, looking for any way to escape his embarrassment, gave a quick “Of course, miss” before moving to the door. The girls giggled, whispering something about a “surprise” but Emil was already pulling the door shut behind him. 

The room was empty. The walls were dark and rich in color, the exact opposite of the room he had just been in. in the center was a huge bed. The mattress alone looked three times thicker than his own. Despite wanting to leave the room and scamper back to second class as quickly as possible, Emil found himself aching to feel the softness of the bed. 

Just a minute he told himself. 

The mattress dipped under his fingertips and he carefully laid himself out, letting his legs dangle off the side. He felt like he was lying on a cloud and Emil let a pleased sigh escape his lips. He turned his head and nestled into one of the pillows. There was a heady scent that made Emil’s stomach flutter and his toes curl. The owner of this bed was an Alpha. 

“Ahem.”

The voice was loud in the stillness of the room, and Emil rose so quickly that he ended up tripping over his own feet and falling off the bed. Straightening himself up, he looked towards the young man standing by the threshold, regarding him with cool brown eyes. The first thing Emil thought was that he was that this man definitely Mei’s brother with their similar skin tones and facial features. The only different was his thicker eyebrows and shorter hair. The second thing was this man was beautiful and handsome at the same time. 

“Umm,” was all Emil could manage to say. He then blurted out, “Your bed is really soft, sir.”  
Before he could mentally kick himself and say his prayers because he was surely going to be fired for this and probably getting his brother fired as well, the Alpha opened his mouth – and started laughing. 

 

 **Just as Karou Wang had predicted, dinner was beyond boring.** Across the dining room, finely dressed passengers sat gossiping in hushed tones over the more illustrious members of first class, especially Lord Arthur Dewitt-Kirkland and his fiancé. If there was one person who was probably more miserable than him, Karou knew it had to be Arthur. He had met the Brit two years’ prior at a Spring gala and while the boy had been cynical and anything but pleasant, he recognized in him a fellow spirit that felt trapped. Now sitting only a few feet away from one another, Arthur looked lifeless next to his soon-to-be-mate. After dinner, Karou retreated into the Alpha only smoking room. He sat in the back corner listening to older Alphas talk of their military achievements and business ventures as though they were masters of the universe.

When he returned to his room sometime after 8, he wasn’t’ expecting to find a stranger in his bed. 

“Ahem,” he cleared his throat, hoping to alert the man without starling him.

His attempt proved futile as the young man fell of the bed. Glancing at his uniform, Karou deduced that he was a crew member, perhaps a steward. 

“Umm,” the stranger said, heat rushing to his pale cheeks. “Your bed is really soft sir.”  
Karou couldn’t help himself. He started laughing, leaning forward and clutching his stomach as laughter racked his entire frame. Once Karou collected himself, he offered the man a small smile. 

“I’m Karou Wang,” Karou said, taking a step closer and extending a hand to help the man from the floor.

The steward clasped his hand, lifting his eyes from the floor to meet Karou’s as he rose to full height. “Emil Thomasson, sir,” he said softly.

He’s beautiful, Karou mused, taking a good look at Emil. He was definitely an Omega and rather young, probably a year younger than Karou. He was slightly shorter than Karou, but had a sturdiness about his skinny frame, like he was used to standing up for himself. He had a full head of hair that reminded Karou of freshly fallen snow, and the soft, heart-shaped face of a boy young enough to still have a taste for sweets but old enough to want to be kissed. His pale eyes changed color from deep purple to an extraordinary blue-violet under the warm lights of the room. 

“Your eyes are like rain,” Karou commented, running fingers through the soft strands thoughtfully, admiring the way they caught the lamplight, “I’ve never seen hair this color before.”

Emil, whether unknowingly or not, had leaned into his touch, seemingly just as mesmerized by Karou as he was by him. 

“My mother used to say that I had too much water in my soul,” he whispered. 

“Water,” he let the word roll over his tongue slowly. _Water is both calm and restless. It can carve canyons and destroy villages, but it can also quench the dry soil and bring forth life._

Standing that close, Karou could smell the scent of fresh wildflowers and rain soaked earth wafting from his skin. It burned his throat in a way that was far more delicious than the brandy he had consumed earlier. He could get lost in the waves the rolled in the depths of the beautiful, white haired boys eyes, but he restrained himself. His sister was next door and his brother would be returning soon…Reluctantly, Karou lowered his hand and stepped back. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Thomasson,” he said sincerely.

Emil seemed to regain his senses and took that as his exit. With a swift bow, he made his way towards the door. Feeling emboldened by the intoxicatingly sweet scent coursing through his veins, Karou called out to him. 

“Oh and Thomasson?” Karou waited for the other boy to stop and turn to look at him. Fiery gold met tempered rain. 

“Feel free to drop by anytime in the future.” 

Emil blushed, a small smile gracing his lips. He nodded before closing the door behind him. 

Later that night when Karou slipped under the covers, he nestled up to pillow that the Omega had been laying on and for the first time in a long while, he went to sleep satisfied.


	4. Cloud Walkers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was no room for Arthur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the long wait! Finals happened and then my big brother's graduation took place so I was crazy busy (*sniff* he's going off to medical school while his sister sits in her dorm room writing fluffy smut) So now that the storm has passed, I am going to try to update regularly (typically at least once a week)  
> Anywho, enjoy!

_April 11, 1912 11:56 AM_  
 **The morning sun shined through the tiny porthole,** flooding the cramped cabin in warm light. Alfred groaned softly as he rolled over, blinking his eyes into focus. 

Across from him, Feliks and Toris’ bunks were empty. Peering over the side of his top bunk, Alfred saw that their roommate, a mostly silent Dutch Alpha, with intense green eyes and gravity-defying sandy hair, had also vacated the room. 

Heaving himself out of bed, Alfred stretched his limbs before opening the small drawer that contained his belongings: just a few loose shirts, several trousers, his father’s pocket watch, two pairs of shoes, his art pad, and a worn out photograph of his entire family. Glancing at the slightly faded picture, he smiled as his fingers gently traced over the faded faces of his Henry and Nellie Jones. He had inherited his mother’s sparkling eyes and his father’s smile. His two uncles and their mates stood on either side of his parents and his grandmother was seated in the middle of the group. Surrounding the elderly Alpha matriarch were all the grandchildren. Six-year-old Alfred sat directly next to her grinning broadly at the unseen photographer. On his left were his older brother and sister, Steve and Emily, and three older cousins, Molly, Alex and Samantha. On his right…

Alfred felt his throat tighten up. His baby brother was holding a stuffed bear in his arms and staring at the camera with a slightly bewildered expression. Even though the photograph was in black and white, Alfred could still remember the purple hue of his brother’s eyes. The way they glimmered with wonder when Alfred talked about his dreams, the way they seemed to shine whenever he brought home candy or half-melted ice cream after selling newspapers all day... 

“We’re almost home Mattie,” he whispered, tucking the photo safely into his shirt pocket.

Making his way to the third class dining saloon, Alfred spotted his friends sitting at one of the long wooden tables. Their roommate sat across from them quietly eating his breakfast. Next to him was a pretty girl with honey-blond hair that framed her oval face and expressive green eyes. 

“Morning, lads,” Alfred said with a grin, slipping into the swivel chair next to Toris. “And ladies,” he added, tossing the girl a wink. Her cheeks colored and she stifled a giggle behind her hand. A steward placed a plate down in front of Alfred and his jaw dropped. The plate was piled with oatmeal porridge, herrings, steaming potatoes, a bowl of vegetable soup, green peas, and roasted pork with sage and onions. That was more food than Alfred usually had in a day. He immediately began digging in. Feliks and Toris chuckled. 

"Just think, for the next week, we get to eat like kings," the blonde Omega said, scooping up a spoonful of plum pudding. "If the food in third class is this good, imagine what it's like up in first class."

Alfred smiled into his bowl of soup as he glanced around the dining area. Large families and clusters of friends sat huddled together, talking animatedly and laughing. A beautiful melody of accents and languages flowed and hummed in the air, creating a welcoming atmosphere. 

_I bet they don't laugh like this in first class,_ he thought to himself. 

After breakfast, the trio made their way to B Deck. They were greeted by rocky cliffs that rose out of an endless sea of Irish green hills. Above them, the sky was covered with clouds that reminded Alfred of pillows and cotton candy. 

As the Titanic anchored off the harbor, two smaller ships carrying bags of mail and passengers, pulled up alongside the giant hull. 

Peering over the side, Alfred watched as passengers entered the belly of the ship. A few steerage passengers, who most likely had never been on a ship, much less, left their homeland, fainted and had to be carried on board by officers. He felt familiar tinge of empathy. 

After his parents' deaths, Alfred had scraped together just enough money to pay for one-way passage to Europe. His knees were shaking so hard on the gangway that a sailor all but had to drag him across the threshold. As he continued his travels over the years, he learned to control his fear and his knees shook less and less. The picture of his family suddenly felt very heavy in his pocket. 

The loud blow of the ship’s whistle shattered his thoughts and Alfred let out a breath. 

He had a new family now and they were steaming towards a new life, with nothing in front of them but ocean. 

 

**While many passengers were enjoying the sights on the promenade,** Arthur spent a good deal of the morning below deck. Lili had dropped by his room, ushering in a nervous looking Tino who tightly clasped the hand of his young son. Peter was dressed in a sailor uniform with a matching whitecap and knee high socks. Tino himself was clad in a simple light blue frock and matching hat. It was rather common for male Omegas to wear skirts or gowns that accentuated their features. Arthur himself was still dressed in his favorite green robe embroidered with golden chrysanthemums.

Despite his nerves, Tino’s expression had lightened considerably upon seeing his former employer and friend and the two embraced warmly. Peter, while initially shy, warmed up when Arthur presented him with a plush teddy bear he had bought for the young boy. By noon, Kiku and Tino were sitting on the elegantly curved chaise drinking tea and reminiscing about their working days, while Lili and Peter were splayed out on the floor eating French vanilla ice cream, flaky, crescent-shaped croissants and fresh strawberries brought by the bellhop. Jason had yet to emerge from his room, and Arthur took full advantage of his absence, unpacking paintings and carefully laying them out on the stuffy settees and armchairs. 

“That one is so mysterious,” Lili commented, peering up from her place on the carpeted floor. Her mauve dress was spread around her like a flower and Peter was snuggled up with his head resting upon her lap and his arms wrapped tightly around the stuffed animal. 

“It is quite captivating,” Kiku chimed in, setting down his cup of tea on the mahogany end table. He was wearing a pale brown kimono covered in extravagant patterns resembling vines entwined with flowers and leaves. “There’s a truth laying in its depths, and yet…no logic.” Arthur nodded, humming in agreement.

The artist had beautifully shown discord in the shapes and faces that were strewn across the canvas. It had spoken to Arthur, reminding him of one of the first short stories he had shared with his brother Patrick. He had been much younger then, back when sharing his writing had been one of the greatest pleasures in his life and he had been hopeful for the future. 

Arthur felt a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t know about you three, but I think this room could a use little color and personality.”

His three companions shared a knowing smile with him. Tino stood, picking up a smaller painting, one of Monet’s works, and looked around the room. 

“I think this one over by the fireplace would look lovely, Artie." 

“Oh God, not that childish nickname,” Jason cut in, appearing from his bedroom and, as usual, sucking the life out of the room with his overbearing presence. While to the untrained ear, his tone came off as good-humored and charming, Arthur could hear the condescending note behind the words. His valet followed dutifully behind him. “I certainly do hope that none of your servants will address that way after we are married.”

Arthur’s green eyes hardened into emeralds. “Yes, I’m sure my nickname is quite embarrassing for you, _darling_ ,” he said monotonously.

Jason hummed in agreement, completely oblivious to Arthur’s change in demeanor. His dark eyes fell on the newcomers.  
Tino had turned to face Jason with a look of trepidation on his pale face. Peter and Lili were standing as well and Peter was trying to hide himself in the folds of Lili’s dress. 

“So you must be the infamous Tino I’ve heard so much about,” he glanced down at the Omega’s swollen stomach, arching an immaculate black eyebrow. “You just pop out bastards right and left don’t you?” 

Tino faced flushed crimson and in a span of several seconds, anger, shame and sorrow flashed in his amethysts eyes. Peter visibly started to shake and Lili did her best to comfort the small boy, whispering soothing words into his ear. 

“Isn’t there someone else you can go enlighten with your presence, Jason?” Arthur asked sharply, irritation edging into his otherwise even voice. “I’m sure one of your Alpha colleagues would love your company.” 

“My, my, my. Is that the kind of language you scribble in your worn out journal—”

Eyes widening, Arthur felt all the air leave his body. His notebook – filled with paragraphs containing his most intimate thoughts, fears and desires – was in Jason hands. A disgusting feeling of violation curled up Arthur’s spine. Dropping the canvas he held to the floor, he crossed the parlor in seconds, yanking his book from his fiancé’s grip. 

“Was there ever a conversation in which I clearly gave you permission to look or even touch my journal because I bloody hell can’t recall it!” 

As quickly as the words flew out of Arthur's mouth, so too did Jason’s hand, snatching Arthur’s wrist in a vice like grip. The Alpha's face remained slightly amused, as if Arthur was a temperamental toddler and Jason was his patient nanny waiting for him to wear himself out. 

But Arthur caught the flash in his eyes – the unspoken words of, _you are damn lucky there are people in the room_. Arthur steeled himself, forcing down his Omega instincts to flinch or submit to the Alpha’s politely veiled rage. The room had gone quiet, save for Peter’s soft whimpers. Tino had crossed to his son and stood protectively in front of him and Lili. The air was thick with unease and tension as the two men silently battled for dominance.

“Would you let go of my wrist?” Arthur finally said, voice low and controlled. 

Jason’s lips twitched into an unnatural smile. His eyes reminded Arthur of two dark stars, all black and devoid of any light. He released Arthur’s wrist and, instead, pinched the Omega’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. Arthur bit the inside of cheek to keep himself from whimpering. That gesture was very common among Alphas who were enforcing their dominance on their mates. From the corner of his eye, Arthur could see that both Kiku and Tino had stiffened at the gesture, knowing its significance. They knew –and he knew— that he could not break away from the gesture without causing a scene. Well an even bigger scene than the one he already created.

He was forbidden. 

“You know I only have your best interest at heart Arthur,” Jason said, voice reverting back to his affectionate tone. “There is no future in a writing career. These finger paintings you love so much, those meaningless scribbles in your journal –they’re clouding your head with nothing but daydreams.”

_‘Remember that art is one of the most honest ways of expressing yourself,_ Patrick had told him back when Arthur was 10 and they were visiting an art museum. The 16-year-old had flashed him a confident smile, as he motioned to a Roman statue of Jupiter. _There’s a whole world out there that’s filled with art. Whether it’s an Impressionist painting, a mathematical equation, a romantic poem, a chart of the constellations, a Beethoven symphony, a scientific theory, an ancient statue –even the vandalized walls in Pompeii! It’s all a part of art. You have a gift for words Artie. Share it with the world. When we’re all gone, our dreams will live on forever…’_

Arthur felt a lump form in his throat, and he knew then that he had lost this fight. So, he broke eye contact, casting his gaze downwards in a sign of submission. Jason released his chin. Arthur let his eyes meet Tino’s, and noticed the crease in his eyebrows. Even Kiku, who usually schooled his expression to one of submissive servitude in Jason’s presence, was frowning. Lili looked at him sadly as she held Peter close, her forest green eyes moist with unshed sorrow. 

Arthur had seen that look countless times in his cousin. By convention, she could not come to his defense. Nor could Tino or Kiku. Even if Jason had beat him before their very eyes, an Omega’s word was almost worthless in the court of law. 

“Now then,” Jason said, immediately in a good mood again, “I do believe it’s almost time for lunch. Kiku help Arthur put away these paintings so we can leave for the café.”

As the small group recovered from the tense ordeal moments ago, Arthur heard Jason say to bemusedly to his valet as they headed back towards his quarters, “Well, at least they were cheap.” 

He wished he hadn’t heard that. He felt bile rising in his throat and even after he swallowed it down, the bitter taste remained. **Cheap.** The world he was born into may have appeared luxurious on the outside, but the people who ruled his world – the ones who danced in golden ballrooms and spent fortunes on houses that rivaled palaces -they were nothing but cheap toy birds who were too busy preening their feathers and pecking at one another to notice the world around them. In this world, there was no room for dreamers and there was no room for Arthur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My poor baby England! I'm sorry I'm making you suffer so much! 
> 
> P.S. Title comes from a Portuguese word _nefelibata_ that means a person who lives (or walks) in the clouds of their own imagination and dreams. Can I get a booyeah for all the cloud walkers in the house?


	5. Ephemeral

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the late update. But here is the new chapter!

**Arthur and Jason exited the stateroom first** , the latter’s arm draped loosely over his Alpha’s. Arthur had changed into a light brown suit that complimented Jason’s black tailored outfit. Lili followed, arm in arm with Tino and Peter. Anyone who was anyone in first class knew that the young boy with startlingly blue eyes and thick eyebrows was the late Patrick Kirkland’s illegitimate son. 

“Well bonjour.”

Walking around the side of corridor was Francis Bonnefoy, wearing an ivory suit. His blonde locks were styled into a loose ponytail at the nape of his neck. The French Alpha clicked the heels of his black dress shoes together and made a slight bow from his neck, before planting a kiss on the hands of Lili and Tino respectively. He reached Arthur last and lingered, post-kiss, applying the slightest pressure to tips of his fingers in a reassuring squeeze. 

“ _Est-ce que tu vas bien_?” he asked, letting his eyes flicker to Jason, who was attempting to mask his annoyance at the unfamiliar words, before returning to look at Arthur. 

The son of the French marquise had been close friends with Arthur’s late brother and often spent summers and winters with them at their family’s various estates. Even though in their youth they had often butted heads, Arthur knew that Francis was one of the only people who truly cared for him. His strong, but familiar presence put Arthur at ease and made him feel a semblance of security. 

“ _Je vais vivre,_ ” he replied. 

Francis straightened up and offered Jason a nonchalant nod. That was another reason Arthur appreciated Francis. He despised Jason almost as much as Arthur did –especially since the Alpha had forbidden him from attending his wedding.

“Francis?” 

The group turned to see a young man and woman approaching. The woman, Arthur recognized as Elise, Francis’ younger sister. She wore a high collared morning dress of pearl crepe de chine draped with pale taffeta, tulle, and lace. Her blue eyes blinked coolly from behind large rimmed glasses, revealing nothing of her inner thoughts. The man, Arthur assumed was Matthew. He was dressed in a dove gray coat and matching hat that covered his honey-colored curls and hid his face from prying eyes.  
Even though he was married to the richest man in Europe, Matthew was still looked down upon by many for lacking the pedigree that his spouse had. People passing kept a respectful distance, but, behind their fans and covered fingertips, Arthur could hear the whispers and snide scoffs. The Omega seemed to shrink under the intense scrutiny of the onlookers and, as if sensing his mate’s unease, Francis moved to stand next to him, placing a comforting arm around the smaller male. Jason’s glanced down at Matthew’s gloved hand that rested above the protruding bump of his stomach. 

“I suppose a congratulations are in order to you, Francis,” he said, voice laced with contempt and mock civility. “I guess the gossip columns were telling the truth this time.”

Arthur glanced at Jason with open shock and disgust. He was, of course, referring the rumors that stated the only reason Francis had married Matthew was to cover up the pregnancy of what would have otherwise been an illegitimate child. His rude comment was not only an attack on Matthew, but an attack on the entire Bonnefoy family. While Francis looked outwardly calm, if not bemused, Arthur could sense the fury radiating underneath his skin. Insulting a claimed Omega was one of the unspoken taboos of their social class, especially in front of the Omega’s Alpha. Arthur knew that Francis, for all his charms and quips, was still a hot-blooded Alpha and would more than likely lash out at the smug man in front of him. So Arthur acted before anyone else could.

He stepped forward and rubbed his cheek against Matthew’s. 

This scent-marking gesture was a typical Omega greeting used to display close affection and friendship. However, it was rarely done in public and even more rarely done between two adult Omegas. By rubbing Matthew’s cheek against his own, Arthur was showing everyone that he was accepting Matthew as a friend –even Francis looked surprised.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Matthew. I apologize that I was not able to make the wedding, but I heard that you were a beautiful bride,” he said taking a step back. 

“T-thank you Lord Kirkland,” Matthew stammered bashfully, attempting to hide his pinkening face by dipping into a deep curtsey. “It’s a pleasure to meet you too. Francis has told me much about you.” 

“Please just Arthur is fine,” the Englishman motioned towards his group. “We were on our way to the café for lunch. Would you care to join us?” 

Matthew flashed him a beautiful smile.

“We would love too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna start doing a word glossary for some of the fashion words and words in different languages. Lemme know how you guys like it! 
> 
> Ephemeral (adj.) lasting for a very short moment in time. 
> 
> Tulle (English pronunciation: TOOL) a lightweight, very fine netting most often used for veils, gowns, and ballet tutus.
> 
> Crepe de Chine, also spelled Crêpe De Chine, (French: “crepe of China”), this material consists of a delicate texture with an exceptional drape. One of the more durable cultivated silk fabrics, this material is ideal for bridal and formal wear in addition to blouses and men’s shirts.
> 
> Est-ce que tu vas bien - Are you alright or are you okay (sorry if its off a little bit)
> 
> Je vais vivre - I will live


	6. Sygyzy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry England.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: It gets a little physical between Jason and Arthur so if abusive (psychological) relationships make you uncomfortable, then skip the last section of the chapter.
> 
> P.S. The title means the alignment of celestial bodies (because Arthur and Alfred's fates are written in the stars~)

**The Verandah and Palm Court** was charming and tastefully decorated cafe. Tall windows let in warm sun light and gave a picturesque view of an ocean that seemed to stretch on for miles. High back wicker chairs were grouped around circular tables, and waiters moved effortlessly across the black and white tiled floor and around ivy-covered columns carrying polished platters of food, pitchers with lemon water and bottles filled with wine. 

Arthur’s group situated themselves at the center most table in the room. They were soon joined by Vash and his boyhood friend, Roderich Edelstein, who wore a fitted plum colored suit accentuated with a white cravat and starch white gloves. His chocolate locks had an effortless, velvety look about them and were swept delicately over his face. Though the Austrian musician’s posture was regal, he had a kind smile and his dark purple eyes shined from behind his spectacles. His mother, Marianne, was not as cordial. The elderly Alpha’s chestnut hair was streaked with grey flecks and her overdone makeup did nothing to hide her sunken cheeks nor her sour expression as she appraised Matthew and Tino with an air of European haughtiness. She took a seat next to Jason and blatantly ignored the Omega members of the table. Bruce Ismay and Thomas Andrews also joined their party. Lili, Vash, Elise and Peter were invited by a bright eyed Chinese Beta to a nearby table where a group of teenagers sat. Peter looked perfectly at home amongst the younger generation of elites who did not appear put off by the scandal of his parentage. In fact, they gushed over the young boy, passing him mouthwatering sweets from their own plates. 

Not long after they settled down, Elizabeta Héderváry and Gilbert Beilschmidt entered the room. Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur noticed that Roderich had stiffened in his seat and a rosy hue had appeared on his cheeks. Glancing back, he was pleasantly shocked to see that the Prussian noble’s wine-colored were trained on the Austrian with blazing intensity and an almost feral smile was set on his lips. 

Arthur vaguely remembered Vash explaining that Roderich had been proposed to by ‘some crazy Prussian’ about 5 times in the last three years and had declined every offer. 

_That crazy Prussian was probably Gil_ , he mused, noting the mildly irritated frown set on Marianne’s lips. Elizabeta took a seat across from Arthur. After kissing Matthew’s hand and clapping Francis on the back, Gilbert sat down next to Elizabeta, placing him directly across from Roderich, who developed a sudden interest in the tablecloth. With the final members of their party assembled, the table turned into a symphony of teacups and silverware being placed on the porcelain plates and saucers.  


Arthur tuned out most the chatter, his eyes drifting to look outside the window at the passing ocean. Occasionally, the occupants of the café would cast a glance at him or Jason. It was almost laughable to see how many people were ogling at the “couple of the year” as if they were rare birds that needed to be studied in great detail. Arthur begrudgingly admitted that they did make a lovely picture. With his soft blonde hair, green jewel-like eyes, slender neck and wrists, as well as his regal bearing, and Jason’s sharp, strong angles, dark eyes and unlimited confidence, they complimented one another perfectly. At least that’s what the gossips said. 

“…his nose is always stuck in books,” Jason’s nauseatingly deep voice broke through his thoughts and Arthur started. Jason continued, taking a sip of his champagne. “He is always coming up with the wildest thoughts and carries this ancient notebook scribbling Lord knows what in it.” The din of conversation at the table quieted as all eyes sailed towards the blonde haired Kirkland. Thomas Andrews broke the silence. 

“So you’re a writer?”

“No...I suppose I’m not,” Arthur answered, lowering his eyes and forcing down his embarrassment.  
Andrews wasn’t put off by the Englishman’s closed off behavior. Leaning forward, he asked, “But you do write?”

“Well yes, but—”

“Then you are a writer, and therefore an artist,” Andrews gently insisted. “Words and sentences are no different than paintings or marble statues or even ships –it is all art.” Arthur raised his head, confused by the kind tone of the Beta engineer who was smiling at him. 

Marianne scoffed into her teacup and Ismay cleared his throat, attempting to steer the conversation when Elizabeta clapped her hands together and let out a boisterous laugh. “A writer! How wonderful! I always try to surround myself with writers, artists and musicians. They are so fascinating.” Setting her cedar green eyes directly onto Arthur, she offered him a warm smile – one that loudly said, do not worry about them, and started talking, as though Marianne and Jason were no longer present, “My father used to say that you can determine a man’s genius by how many books he reads and the words he writes. I would love to hear about some of your works.”

“I would too,” Matthew softly chimed in. Tino and Roderich both nodded encouragingly. Even Gilbert appeared interested in his answer. 

A fresh blush of pleasure spread across Arthur’s cheeks and a boyish smile broke out on his face. It was probably the first genuine smile he’d cracked since his brother’s death. Outside a handful of people, no one had shown him this much interest in nearly five years –certainly not someone he had just met a little under a day ago. He felt deliciously giddy. 

“Well,” he said, shifting in his seat and looking at the attentive eyes around the table, “I write mostly poetry and short stories. But I’ve been recently writing down verse—”

“That’s quite enough, Arthur,” Jason cut in, placing a stern hand on his knee under the table and letting out a brusque laugh. 

Almost instantly, Arthur’s smile disappeared and his momentary happiness was sucked right out of him. A sharp pain of anger, pierced through Arthur’s chest as Jason’s disgusting laugh reverberated around the table. 

“Honestly, must you bring up your hobby every time we go out?” Amusement colored his tone, as though he had the exhausting task of squashing Arthur’s dreams and hauling him back in to reality.

“My apologies,” Francis said, all politeness evaporating off his tongue, “but I do believe your fiancé was speaking.”  
Jason simply snorted, taking a sip of his drink. “Yes he was, but I would rather not have my darling’s head filled with pointless daydreams.”

Andrews appeared surprised by the Alpha’s behavior, but Elizabeta raised an eyebrow, her sharp eyes snapping to Jason.  
“You consider writing one’s thoughts to be pointless?” 

“I must say I agree with Jason,” Ismay said heartily. With a chuckle, he continued, “Do not misunderstand me. I believe da Vinci and Botticelli gave us masterpieces, Chopin and Beethoven crafted exquisite melodies, and Puccini created breathtaking operas. Call me old-fashioned, but I’ve personally never understood writers. How do they contribute to society?”

“They don’t,” Marianne flapped with a firm nod of her head. “All they do is stir up trouble and fill naïve innocents heads with wild thoughts.” 

“My sentiments exactly,” Ismay said. “The fascination with spending money on, well stacks of paper…you might as well write a poem or novel yourself!” He smoothed the tip of his mustache. “I’m more interested in crafting ways we can craft the future and bring people into the 20th century.” 

Andrews frowned but averted his gaze, silently accepting the fact that his social standing prevented him from interjecting. Elizabeta gaze had hardened considerably and she opened her mouth as if to say something, but then their server arrived to take everyone’s order. 

As if a switch had been flicked, everyone donned their practiced smiles, pretending that nothing but the ordinary pleasantries had been discussed.

Only Elizabeta continued to frown. Tino let out a sigh and Roderich forced a demure smile to his lips, concealing whatever true feelings laid behind his dark eyes. Francis and Matthew, having grown accustomed to wearing masks, molded into their respective roles: Francis as the perfect Alpha who always looked at ease and Matthew as the angelic spouse. Even Andrews backed down, throwing on a smile that didn’t quite fit his face. Arthur couldn’t find it his heart to be bitter at any of them. 

They were just as trapped as he was. Even Francis, who had married for love, ignoring the cries of outrage from the society he had grown up in, had paid a heavy price. Every move he and his mate made was scrutinized and critiqued, from their choice in honeymoon destinations to the type of fan Matthew carried at the opera. Humoring Arthur about his dreams was one thing, but encouraging a change in century old traditions was another.

“We’ll both have the duck. Seared, medium-rare, with very little sauce,” Jason told the waiter before Arthur could even glance at his menu. Jason made an offhand comment – "You like duck, don’t you sweet pea?" – and Arthur forced the red from his vision, debating whether or not to actually say that no he did not like bloody fucking ducks or to simply toss his hot tea into the conceited Alpha’s face. 

So, for the –enth time, Arthur let another part of his soul crack. He swallowed his tears as another piece of himself shattered into the ocean of rising water that suffocated him from the inside. 

Then a new voice suddenly asked, “Are you gonna cut his meat and spoon-feed him like an infant, Jason?”

Everyone turned to look at Gilbert who had been quietly sitting at the end of their table. Jason’s smile faltered and disappeared. Marianne gasped. Francis chocked out a laugh, quickly covering it as a cough. 

The Prussian’s question dripped with disdain, and even though he had just stepped, way, way over the line, his smile remained intact. It was so unexpected and so inappropriate, and felt so fucking good that Arthur had to fight the urge to cheer. Now I know why people call him crazy, he thought to himself. 

“I do recall that Master Kirkland does not like duck,” Tino suddenly pipped in, a sweetly sarcastic note in his otherwise cheerful tone. “In fact, I don’t think I have ever seen him eat a single bird, not even turkey.”  
If his fiancé had been upset before, he was downright livid now. Jason’s face colored significantly as if Tino breathing the same air as him was sacrilege. Yet his pride prevented him from lashing out at the pregnant Omega who had just embarrassed him in front of some of the wealthiest individuals in the world –and Tino knew that. 

As their dishes arrived, the atmosphere gradually lightened. Ismay began a detailed explanation about the reason behind the Titanic’s name. 

“You see, I wanted a ship that showed sheer size and power—”

“Excuse me, Mr. Ismay?” Arthur cut in, feigning politeness. “I don’t mean to interrupt, it’s just… Have you ever heard of Doctor Sigmund Freud by any chance?”

Ismay blinked confusedly. “Is he a passenger?”

Roderich and Elizabeta both hid their smiles behind their napkins and Gilbert snorted. Even Mr. Andrews had an amused expression cross his features. 

“No, sir,” Arthur said overly sweetly, “he specializes in the study of the human psyche. You were commenting so passionately about the structural size of this ship. I think you would find his theory regarding Alpha preoccupation with size intriguing.”

Dropping his smile, he turned his gaze to Jason, “And you know what? You should probably read up on it as well, darling. Especially the Oedipus complex.”

Gilbert raised his glass in a salute and Francis let a low chuckle escape his lips. Marriane looked beyond scandalized and something dangerous flashed in Jason’s eyes. But before anyone could say anything more, Arthur was already rising up from his chair. “My apologies everyone, but I seem to have lost my appetite.” He directed the last word at Jason, before turning with a slight nod of his head, “If you’ll excuse me.”

He left the table, walking till he was out of the café and out in on the promenade. He kept walking, not even bothering to look at where he was going. He just had to get away from him. Despite the chilly air, his face still felt heated and his pulse pounded in his eardrum. He hadn’t meant to snap like that but... 

A voice called out. 

“It’s ok. No harm done, man.”

 **Alfred’s gang had been out on the deck for well over an hour** , soaking in the sunlight as they breathed in cool ocean air. The American Alpha had spent the majority of that time hunched over his sketch pad. He had always been drawn towards subjects that told a story. One thing he had learned in his relatively short life was that everyone had a story. The ones that mesmerized him the most were the silent stories that were hidden deep in the corners of people’s eyes or wrapped tightly around their bodies like a blanket. Alfred saw the stories no one else bothered to look for.

Glancing up, he noticed that his current model had turned his head slightly to continue retelling his adventure in first class to Feliks and Toris. Though he had come off as reserved when Alfred first spotted him brooding alone at the rail, he immediately been captivated by the boy’s strange, but beautiful watercolored eyes. After introducing himself and convincing the slightly flustered teen to join their group for the afternoon, his cold exterior melted and he turned out to be a kaleidoscope of emotions and expressions. Listening to his descriptions of the sparkling chandeliers and beautifully dressed people –especially one young man in particular, Alfred realized he had a powerful story: the story of a dreamer. Smiling, Alfred lowered his pencil. 

“Emil,” he called out, “I know you’re feeling a little lovesick and you could go on and on about your dark-haired Alpha prince, but you gotta keep your face tilted this way.”

Emil’s face flushed pink and pouted. “I am not lovesick,” he muttered, repositioning his head to the side.  
Alfred chuckled, turning back to sketchpad.

“Just a few more minutes, I promise,” he said, alternating his gaze from the paper to Emil’s face and back down to the paper. His hands moved in slow, steady strokes across the thin canvas. 

“That’s what he always says,” Feliks quipped. He was leaning against the railing, a cigarette dangling from his lips. 

The snowy-haired teen quirked an eyebrow. “Does he draw you often?” he asked, directing the question at Feliks.  
“He never stays still long enough for me to draw him,” Alfred muttered, one corner of his mouth upturned, “and he can’t stop talking.” 

“Not that I disagree with you Al, but this is coming from a man who has the attention span of a five-year-old,” Toris teased. 

Alfred’s smile widened, “Except for when I’m drawing somethin’ great.”

“Except when you’re drawing something great,” Toris nodded. 

Just as he was finishing the shading around Emil’s throat, Alfred felt something bump into his shoulder. He stumbled but quickly straightened himself up and sighed in relief upon seeing that he hadn’t smudged or otherwise messed up his hours’ worth of work. Looking up, he was greeted by the back of a man walking towards the bow of the ship.  
Emil and Toris both straightened from their relaxed poses and Feliks looked like he was about to say something. But Alfred beat him to it. 

“It’s ok. No harm done, man,” Alfred called after him.

The man stopped abruptly, looking over his shoulder. Alfred was taken aback by how young he looked, probably a year or two older than himself. Judging by his dress, he definitely wasn’t in his part of the ship. First class passengers rarely came to the third class deck unless they were coming to get their dogs from the kennel or were taking a tour with one of the officers. But, judging from his face, he didn’t look like he was slumming or coming to fetch his pooch. For a brief moment, he looked like he was either about to start screaming or crying. Then his face morphed with confusion and repulsion. Despite his expression, Alfred couldn’t help but take note of how striking the first class stranger was. His blonde hair was untamable and his green eyes blazed with so much fierceness that Alfred was under the impression that he was looking at a caged animal rather than a person.

He caught a whiff of lavender and mint and immediately placed him as an Omega. His puzzled him. Seeing an upper-class Omega, alone, without some guard or companion was almost unheard of. He had been under the impression that they never went anywhere by themselves, especially not to the third class part of the grand ocean liners. 

“Are you speaking to me?”

While his friends noticeably bristled at the man’s clipped rudeness, Alfred simply shrugged, flashing him a smile. 

“Well… I mean, you did just run into me and almost ruined my drawing. I would think people in first class would know how to apologize properly.”

The guy’s thick eyebrows furrowed and Alfred spotted a hint of embarrassment in his eyes before he tightened his jaw and went back on the defensive. “You were in my way,” he said curtly.

Ok so not only is he a beautiful, rich Omega who’s alone, but he’s a beautiful, rich Omega who’s alone and has a mouth on him, Alfred mused silently. 

“Well I learned my lesson,” he chirped after a moment of silence. “I guess I should be apologizing to you right?”  
The shorter blonde narrowed his eyes, his mouth twitching. Though he was obviously jostled by Alfred’s answer, he refused to break eye contact, staring Alfred down.

“You’re being sarcastic.”

Alfred grinned. “Damn right I am.”

His nostrils flared and the young man grew red in the face, looking like he was about to throw a punch into the beaming Alpha’s face. Instead, he turned on his heel and continued stomping off. 

While his friends laughed at the childish tantrum the blueblood had just thrown, Alfred felt his lips pulling down into confused frown. He watched the blonde make his way closer to the bow of the ship, reaching out and grasping at the railing desperately as if the piece of metal was the only thing grounding him to this world. 

Staring off at nothing in particular, he was a statue; a lonely angel that had fallen from Paradise and was wandering in the wilderness. There had been a flash in his eyes, that had been screaming for help, but Alfred wondered if he was the only person on the ship who could hear him.  


He was so broken and filled with so much silent pain. No one that young should have that much pain bottled up inside of them. Alfred knew it was not his place, he knew he should have let the man have his peace –possibly the only peace he would have on this voyage, but he was fascinated to know what made this beautiful stranger so broken.

“Al, where are you going?” Toris asked.

Alfred’s feet were moving in the direction of the blonde prince.  
“I just wanna check something out,” he said, distracted. 

“You’re crazy,” Emil muttered, but didn’t try to stop him. 

The Alpha cleared his throat as he approached the man, alerting him of his presence. Startled, the Omega whipped his head around, amazon moss meeting sea blue.

“Oh, it’s you,” he said, glowering slightly. “If you came over here to mock me, then I suggest you leave. I’m not in the mood.”

Alfred found himself smiling again. There was something just downright adorable about the man when he was trying to come off as threatening. But Alfred knew that the man would probably just as quickly haul him overboard than gush at the American’s private thoughts. He leaned against the railing, a few feet from the Omega, giving him a wide birth of space. He reached into his coat pocket, producing a packet of cigarettes. He held out the pack between his thumb and index finger. “Do you smoke?” 

After a brief pause, he said “Thank you,” and gingerly took one, reaching into his coat pocket for a light. He inhaled, long and deep. Alfred watched as the man’s eyelashes fluttered closed and he leaned his head back, blowing out an expert puff of smoke. 

“Damn, I needed that,” he mumbled, a look of serenity crossing his features.

Alfred was again struck by how young he looked. There was a deep seeded distrust and fatigue buried in his eyes, and his cheeks held almost no trace of laughing lines or dimples. But a soft lilt washed over his roughened voice as he sighed again and his gaze, though tired, lost much of its harshness. Alfred thought he was absolutely stunning. Dazzling even.

“Good stuff right?” he asked teasingly. 

The man took another drag, mulling his words over. “It’s not…unpleasant,” he finally said. For a moment in time, his face was impassive. But then he seemed to feel Alfred’s eyes on him and finally caved in, letting a tiny smile grace his lips. Unsurprisingly, Alfred found his smile beautiful.

Right as Alfred was extending his hand to introduce himself, a voice cracked like a whip, slicing through the air.

“Arthur!” Both he and Alfred looked back to see a man power walking in their direction. One glance over at his companion told Alfred everything he needed to know about the approaching figure. 

One he was an Alpha. 

Two he was disgustingly wealthy. 

And three he was an enormous jackass. 

Arthur’s eyes squeezed shut, as if he was trying to wake up from a very disturbing dream. Alfred watched his mask slowly reshape itself. When his eyes reopened, Alfred saw none of the fire he had seen earlier. They were a lifeless shell. 

The shorter man lifted his hand, taking a deep drag from the cigarette before tossing it over the side of the ship. He glanced at Alfred for a moment before turning to walk towards the Alpha.

“You made a fool of yourself in there!” the newcomer hissed as he grabbed Arthur’s forearm.  
The gesture made Alfred’s chest swell with an unexplainable sense of protectiveness towards the small Omega. 

Arthur’s glare hardened and he leaned into the man, almost looking like he was going to kiss him– and then he blew out the smoke he still had sitting in his lungs right in the other man’s face. 

The Alpha reeled back, as if he had been physically hit, coughing and choking on air. Alfred thought he heard Arthur mutter, “Now you know how it feels,” before stomping back the way he had come. Both Alphas watched him leave. It wasn’t till he was back on the first class deck and out of sight that the older man turned back to Alfred. Both men sized one another up in silence. 

“You would be wise not to speak of this,” he said stiffly, sneering at the other American before following Arthur. After he left, Alfred’s friends crowded around him, asking questions. With the promise of some grub and drinks, they headed back down to the third class cabins.

But Alfred’s mind kept drifting back to the man with the beautiful smile that was as fragile and brief as the light of a firefly. 

 

 **Arthur spent the rest of the afternoon in his room.** He was now curled up on his bed, wearing his mint colored robe and writing in his journal. After he had left the café, Tino had decided to collect Peter and head back to the second class part of the ship. Vash and Lili stopped by to ask if everything was alright (Lili had been sitting too far away too hear the exchange at the table but from Arthur’s abrupt leave and Jason’s furious expression, she knew it could not have been anything good). Vash even suggested that Arthur stay in their cabin until things settled down, but Arthur, as much as he wanted to hide behind his cousin’s well placed protectiveness and avoid Jason, knew the longer he hid, the worse the outcome would be.  
Assuring his relatives that he was fine, he closed the door behind them. Kiku sat across from him, nervously straightening the books on his desk. They both knew it was only a matter of time— 

Jason entered the room without knocking and Arthur tensed immediately. He knew that if Jason threw out all pretense of gentlemanly courtesy, he was enraged. 

“Kiku, leave us.” 

His voice left no room for argument. The Japanese man, for a moment looked like he was willing to risk insubordination to protect his charge, but one look from Arthur told him it wasn’t worth it. If Kiku talked out of turn or so much as lifted a finger to defend Arthur, he would be fired immediately and the fear of losing his last ally was almost worse than Arthur’s fear of Jason. 

While the Alpha had never physically struck him, there was always that hidden danger lurking under his practiced smiles and pressed suits. 

The door closed with a soft click. 

“Arthur.”

Arthur pretended to not hear him.

There was a heavy silence, then the bed dipped. Arthur’s heartbeat was ringing loudly in his ears, and he fought to keep his hands steady as he continued to write words across the page. He found himself wishing that he had taken his cousin’s offer, that he had ran to Francis and Matthew’s room, that he had stayed with the handsome stranger with blue eyes….  
Jason plucked the book right out of Arthur’s hands and tossed it haphazardly at the foot of the bed. Arthur felt his confidence shrivel like a wilted flower. His last line of defense was gone. 

He felt a hand rest on the side of his face, large, steady fingers traced his jawline in an almost tender gesture. Arthur wanted to shrink away, to slap the hand, to leave the room; to be anywhere but next to that man. Even though his treatment was not much better in public, having witnesses was still safer than being by himself. Alone in their cabin, Arthur was at his mercy. 

“I do not pretend to understand why you act so quarrelsome,” Jason said softly, turning Arthur’s face so they were staring at one another –or rather Jason went from staring at his eyes to blatantly gazing at his lips. “I do care about you, Arthur. Maybe I do not always understand you – but you have closed your heart to me. you realize how much easier it would be to just let me in? To let me take care of you?” The hand on his cheek drifted down to his neck, dipping under the collar of his shirt. 

Arthur froze. No, no, no, no. Jason had been slyly trying to push the boundaries as the wedding drew closer, attempting to slowly break Arthur down, first verbally, then physically. It had happened once before and –even though it had been long ago— that was all the encouragement Jason needed to try again. 

That one time… He had been reckless; letting Jason’s words and his own grief and touch-starved desires lead him into the arms of the beast. It had been stupid – the hope of a relief to a problem that Arthur did not have the capacity to handle; and yet…he still couldn’t bring himself to forgive what he had done. What Jason had done.

“Stop fighting me,” Jason growls, the noise making Arthur’s throat tighten. Jason slowly started to unbutton Arthur’s shirt, leaning forward to press his lips to his collarbones. A spike of arousal shot through Arthur’s spine and he squeezed his eyes shut. 

“Jason, no…we can’t, it – it wouldn’t be proper. Not before the wed—”

Jason started kissing a path up towards his mouth. “We dine this before,” he mumbled inti Arthur’s ear.

“My brother had just died. I was mourning. Besides it was a mistake,” he hissed.

Jason’s fingers paused in their ministrations. He leaned back, regarding Arthur with cold, hungry eyes. 

“You know, you are absolutely right,” he said coolly, rising to his feet. “There’s no need to rush, since you’re technically mine anyways.”

Smoothing his coat, Jason strode towards the bedroom door, opening it wide. Arthur’s now tear-filled eyes were still focused on the spot Jason had been sitting. 

“It would be in your best interest to not have a meltdown at dinner.” He started across the threshold, but then paused as if a new thought had popped into his head. “And wear something more flattering than a suit. You’re an Omega.”  
Without so much as a glance at Arthur, he exits the room, closing the door behind him.

Arthur didn’t realize he was shaking until he brought his hands to his face. Scrubbing the skin furtively, he reached for his book, holding it close to his chest. His hands trembled so badly that he could not flip through the worn pages nor see the words through his blurry vision. Scowling, he stood throwing the book across the room while screaming, “Dammit!”  
Papers went flying as the leather bound journal slammed against the wall with a sturdy thud. Breathing heavily, he moved to his desk. His hand closed around a silver hand mirror, and upon his seeing his red, blotchy reflection, he swung it as hard as he could against the vanity. The silver frame remained undamaged, but the glass cracked in several places and shards scattered across the wooden surface. 

“Fuck!” he shouted as pain erupted in his hand. Red. Blood was trickling from where a shard had sliced his hand. He began throwing anything within reach: books, trinkets, photos, clothes. Anything that would help him release the mountain of pain building up in his soul. Why did Patrick have to die? Why did his mother have to get sick? How could his father –his other brothers— do this to him? 

“ARTHUR-SAN, STOP IT!” 

Arms suddenly wrapped around his waist, rooting him to the ground. Even though he recognized the voice, he still fought against the grip, sending both him and his captor crashing to the ground. He continued to struggle. 

“ARTHUR!” 

He briefly returned to his sense long enough to see Kiku leaning over him. His face was red from exertion and there was fear in his brown eyes. Looking around the room, he saw that his beloved journal was ruined amongst the other books. Glass fragments, torn dresses and loose papers were strewn about the floor and, lying in the middle of the disaster zone, were the remains of his brother’s music box. 

He took one deep breath and started to cry. 

He had not cried since the horrible telegram had arrived stating that his brother had died in an automobile accident. Even then, he had tried to restrain the tears. But he no longer had the strength to hold back. His entire body shook and he struggled to find air to breath. 

Kiku awkwardly pulled him up and situated him in his lap, rocking back and forth and cooing to him like Omega mothers did to their infants. 

“It’ll be alright,” he murmured. “It’ll be alright.” 

They stayed curled on the floor, holding tight to each other as the Titanic steamed onward towards a destination neither of them wished to reach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :'(

**Author's Note:**

> Did you like? Hate it? Ship it?  
> Leave a comment or a kudo :)


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